


on the run and go

by irritable



Series: oh, english [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, hot british spy barging into my life? ok! - angie martinelli a life story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritable/pseuds/irritable
Summary: “You were chased by the cops, got in my car and just yelled ‘Drive!’” AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> i miss cartinelli i miss it a lot and constructive criticism is very welcome!!
> 
> important:  
> \- title: the run and go, top  
> \- i've never set foot in new york, all information taken from google and wikipedia

_“That – What? A… A chase? This just in, folks, an unknown criminal is currently being chased down Columbus Avenue–”_

 

Angie scoffed, turning off the cruddy radio show apparently Vera liked to listen to and making a note to bitch her out for touching her radio. (I mean, how she could misunderstand Angie’s real simple text is beyond her: _DONT TOUCH MY GODDAMN RADIO BITCH!!!!!_ )

 

Making her way, slowly, through West 72nd street, Angie huffed. She made another note to take the goddamn train next time – apparently, today was all about making bad choices. Well, at least her roommate had the grace to leave her a cup of coffee after carting her car around for job interviews.

_Finally_ , the traffic began to clear up – oh. Never mind. She scowled up at the street light responsible for her false hope.

 

“Merde,” she huffed under her breath, eyes flitting nervously over to the clock on her radio. If she didn’t get her ass to Pleasant Avenue in the next half hour, her ma was going to nag her ear off for being late _again_.

 

She huffed, relaxing into her seat, though her hands were clenched tight around the wheel. Taking a look outside, all the cars were practically pressed bumper to bumper, with the occasional guy with a terrible case of road rage giving the car in front sweet little love taps. Like that was gonna do anything.

 

She checked out the car behind her and narrowed her eyes at the crabby looking fossil behind her. That asshole better not even _think_ about bumping into her.

 

Thankfully, the light switched to orange, then to green. She breathed a sigh of relief and straightened back up.

 

“ _Drive_!”

 

Slamming the acceleration purely out of instinct, the car lurched forward.

 

Oh my _god_. A stream of curses fell out of her mouth as she quickly jammed down on the brakes to avoid slamming right into the sucker ahead of her.

 

“ _Che cazzo_? What the fuck?!” she shrieked, swiveling around to rip the fuckin’ creep who had the _nerve_ to even touch her car a new one. “Who the hell are you?”

 

A really pretty woman, that’s who.

 

“Sorry, darling,” the woman said, not sounding sorry at all. She peered over her shoulder, out at the streets.

 

Oh, her accent. She had an accent. Angie growled, rolling her eyes at herself, because, really, now was _not_ the time to be so goddamn gay.

 

“I’m on the run, funny story actually,” she continued.

 

Angie gaped. A car honked behind her, urging her to turn her attention back to the road. “From _who_?” She paused, grabbing tightly onto the wheel. “Wait, no. I don’t care. Get outta my car.”

 

The woman turned back around, seemingly satisfied with her current predicament. Angie was not. “From the cops.”

 

“ _What_?” Angie yelped, pressing the brakes again. The woman smiled, indulging, and buckled her seatbelt. Ha, yeah right. “Oh, hell no, English.”

 

She reached over and unbuckled the seatbelt, trying to open the other door and, hopefully, kick this stranger out of her car, but alas, she was failed by her pathetically short arms. Fuck you, genes. Giving up, she jabbed a finger at the door instead.

 

“Come on, I’ve got places to be and things to do that do _not_ involve parading a criminal around New York,” she huffed.

 

“I am _not_ a criminal,” the woman insisted. Angie raised an eyebrow and turned the radio on.

 

“ _The police are currently searching the streets for a_ –”

 

The woman turned the radio off.

 

“Okay. So I’m technically a criminal. I’m actually trying to clear my friend’s name, because he’s been framed, and it just so happens that the authorities are, well, _not_ trying to clear my friend’s name. I work in law enforcement, by the way. Used to? Hm. Actually, I’m not quite sure about that.”

 

Angie squinted. “Let’s see it?”

 

“I’m not following.”

 

“Your badge thing.” Angie rolled her eyes. “Cops are supposed to carry those around, aren’t they?”

 

The woman did so, dutifully, though she did grumble out a peevish, “ _Not_ a cop.”

 

She sighed. She’d _promised_ ma that she’d quit getting herself into trouble. Then again, she also promised her that she wasn’t gay back when she was still buried in the closet, but it seemed like Angie Martinelli was not a woman of her word. “Fine. Buckle up, English.”

 

“Peggy. Thank you.” A beat. “Angie, is it?”

 

Angie’s lips twitched downward. She twisted the coffee cup around, so her name faced away from the total stranger in her car.

 

“I’m heading to E. 120th street, so if ya want me to drop you off anywhere along the way, just say so, but I’m not goin’ past that.”

 

“120th is fine. Thank you.”

 

“No problem, but, honestly, you couldn’t have taken the damn subway or somethin’? You’re an awful criminal, if charging into a traffic filled street is your getaway plan.”

 

“I’m not a criminal,” Peggy reiterated. “And I was counting on the traffic. My coworkers will assume I’d avoid it, so they won’t be searching here and, of course, by the time they figure out that I did indeed brave the traffic, I’ll be long gone.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not a criminal?”

 

“Quite.”

 

“And what if the cops start searching through cars while you’re still stuck in traffic?”

 

Peggy sniffed. “Then, they’re going to have to filter through all the cars on this street under the sweltering heat and the pollution. If those wankers insist on taking me down, then I’m going to make it bloody difficult for them.”

 

Angie snorted, shooting Peggy a reluctant grin. “You’re somethin’ else, English.”

 

“I can say the same about you. Not many people agree to, how did you put it? Yes, parading a criminal around New York.”

 

“What can I say?” Angie shrugged.

 

She pulled to a stop at another red light and took the time to sneak glances over at her unexpected driving buddy while said guest picked through the streets for any hint of the cops.

 

Windswept hair fell in smooth curls over shoulders covered by a crinkled white blouse and a pair of legs that Angie should probably stop ogling were folded primly in a simple navy pencil skirt.

 

Peggy bit her lip and faced Angie, who flushed and adverted her gaze.

 

“How’d you escape a buncha cops in a pencil skirt and heels?” asked Angie, coughing.

 

“Easier than you’d imagine,” Peggy replied, dryly.

 

Christ, who was this lady? Angie tapped a beat on the wheel of her car as the light turned green.

 

She still had twenty minutes to get to her ma’s place, which was usually a fifteen minute drive, but with the construction going on W. 96th, it was going to be at least thirty minutes in this traffic. She groaned under her breath.

 

“You said you had somewhere to be?” Peggy asked, breaking the silence.

 

“Oh, yeah. Dinner at my ma’s house. I’m never gonna hear the end of it if I’m late and, looking at this traffic, it’s gonna happen.”

 

Having the decency to look guilty, Peggy ducked her head. “Sorry for holding you up.”

 

Angie shrugged. “Ain’t a thing. I was gonna be late anyway and now I can avoid Ralphie’s bear hug that he always pulls me into the moment I walk through the door. Plus, I’ve got a funny bar story to tell the girls.”

 

“Yes, I believe this would make quite a story.” Peggy chuckled.

 

Actually, Angie hummed thoughtfully, her friends would think she was bluffing.

 

“So, who are you?” Angie asked a moment later. “If you’re not a cop, then what are you?”

 

“Peggy Carter.” A beat. “…Phone company?”

 

Angie shot Peggy a look that basically screamed _you’re kiddin’ me, right?_ and huffed out a disbelieving snort.

 

Peggy’s lips curved. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you, darling.”

 

“Ha! This is just making my bar story better.” Angie grinned. “Imagine: chauffeuring around a female James Bond and taking her to dinner with my big Italian family.”

 

“Was that an invitation?” Peggy tilted her head. “I’m afraid I’d have to decline, sorry to disappoint.”

 

She let out a bark of laughter. “You wish. Like my ma would ever let a _criminal_ step foot in her house. Well, at least not one without her last name. _I’m_ still goin’, aren’t I?” At Peggy’s quirked eyebrows, Angie giggled. “Don’t worry, I paid the neighbours back for all the crap I stole. All hush hush, so on record, I’m squeaky clean.”

 

“What were you stealing?” Peggy asked, dubious.

 

“Mostly just books and sometimes chocolate, ‘cause my neighbours had all these old timey plays and I _really_ liked plays – Angie Martinelli, hopeful actress, hopeless waitress – and the guy was always taking trips to Europe, so their fridge _always_ had quality Belgian chocolate.”

 

“I can’t blame you,” said Peggy.

 

“You ever been?” Then, Angie frowned, clarifying, “Not Europe, because of course you’ve been to Europe. To Germany, I mean.”

 

Peggy nodded. “I have, yes. Lovely place.”

 

“Hm.” Angie absentmindedly pushed a stray hair out of her face. “Hey, looks like the traffics clearing up.”

 

“Seems so,” Peggy confirmed, leaning half on the door and half on the seat, angling her body towards Angie. “Do you have a jacket I could borrow?”

 

“Oh. Yeah.” Angie slowed the car by a fraction to swivel around and claw at her hoodie she’d haphazardly tossed across her backseat. “Here ya go.”

 

Peggy murmured a quiet _thanks_ as she took the hoodie.

 

Hiding a beam at the absolutely _adorable_ way Peggy poked her head through her hoodie, Angie pretended to check her wing mirror. She made an endearing little sound from the back of her throat while she tugged on the ends of the sleeves to fit the pullover more comfortably.

 

Angie cleared her throat. With the way this was going, it was gonna end up less of a fun bar story and more of a massive train wreck; these lust at first sight situations Angie always seemed to get herself in either never worked out or never went anywhere.

 

“Julliard?” asked Peggy, spotting the logo on the hoodie. “Impressive.”

 

Blowing out a puff of air, Angie mhmm’ed. “Graduated a couple a’ years ago. Still drownin’ in loans, so what good did that do, huh?”

 

Peggy swept her hands down the front of the hoodie. “I’m sure you’ll get your big break, Angie. You must be very talented.”

 

“Yeah, well, if that break could come sooner rather than later, I’d appreciate it,” Angie huffed, wryly.

 

Her unlikely companion chuckled. “You’ll get there.”

 

“Thanks, English,” Angie sighed.

 

“Not a problem.”

 

They lapsed into silence after that, with Angie taking looks over at the clock every now and then and Peggy tugging at the strings of the hood she’d fit over her head two streetlights ago.

 

Already ten minutes late for dinner, Angie finally pulled up outside of an apartment complex. “Last stop, English.”

 

Peggy jerked up, seemingly lost in her own world. “Right.” She pushed the hood off her head and quickly did a 360°, scanning their surroundings. “Thank you, Angie, really.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Angie replied with a winning smile. “And, hey, if ya ever wanna try some garbage food, there’s a place at 64 Fulton, I heard the service is good.” She poked a thumb in her own direction for good measure. “Heard one of the waitresses is pretty damn great, if you’re ever lookin’ for a getaway driver.”

 

“Oh, I’ve heard she’s the best in the business,” Peggy drawled through a wide beam.

 

“Damn right.” Angie dumped her car keys into her purse, tucked between her thigh and the car door. “Alright, friendly neighbourhood spy, get outta my car, I’ve got an angry mother to get off my back.”

 

Laughing, Peggy ran a hand through her hair. “Of course. I wish you the best of luck.” She pushed open the door, but turned back with one leg out the door, like she forgot something, except Angie suspected Peggy just had a thing for theatrics. And people call _her_ dramatic. “And, please, darling, don’t mention this to anyone.”

 

“Count on it,” Angie replied, smartly. “No bar story to tell. See you 'round?”

 

She smiled, climbing out of the car. “See you around.”

 

Locking up, Angie hoisted her purse onto her shoulder and climbed the steps up to the intercom. She pressed the buzzer.

 

Glancing over her shoulder, she waved as Peggy made to hurry down the street, pulling her hood back up. Oh. “I want my hoodie back at some point, English, I paid thirty-four friggin’ K, annual, for that school and I want something to show for it!”

 

Peggy laughed, waving back. “I’ll try my best.”

 

And with that, she took off into a jog, rounding a corner in a matter of seconds, leaving Angie with the sound of her mother’s irritated huff.

 

“If that isn’t you, Angie, I’ll kill you.”

 

“Ma, I swear, I’ve got a good reason to be late,” Angie breathed after a moment. “There was a real pretty gal, so–”

 

Her mother snorted. “Of course there was, idiota. Come up, then.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, painted all over the news and on the crappy radio station Vera listened to, Howard Stark was officially cleared of treason charges.

 

* * *

  

In another, her Julliard hoodie showed up in her mail slot, folded and washed.

 

* * *

 

A month later, one Peggy Carter showed up, sitting all prim and proper at the corner of the restaurant with her full red lips and neat hair.

 

“A gorgeous gal requesting specifically to sit in my section? Girl might get ideas, Peg.”

 

“Let her,” Peggy replied, face lighting up at the sight of Angie. “Wouldn’t do me any harm, after all she’s pretty _and_ a good driver. All good qualities.”

 

Angie laughed. “Shut up, English, you talk too much.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so im not dead (tumblr: portiallin)
> 
> some fun facts:  
> \- the triad theater, or stage 72, is located on west 72nd street (where angie was driving at the start of the fic) and it is the theater where "boobs! the musical" first opened; i thought it would be appropriate
> 
> \- e. 120th street (where angie's mother lives apparently) is where pleasant avenue ends. pleasant avenue is one of the last streets that's part of the italian harlem in new york and has always been associated with the mafia
> 
> \- according to google maps, it takes 16 minutes to get to e 120th from w 72nd, 20 with traffic, but u know what google maps cant be that accurate, right?
> 
> \- there's actually a place called L&L hawaiian bbq on 64 fulton street in new york and it may not be a diner, but it had L&L in the name so good enough for me (also according to the reviews, the food is actually pretty good, but i've taken some creative liberties)


End file.
